


No Armor

by endeni



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Blanket Permission, Canonical Character Death, Gen, POV Female Character, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Podfic Welcome, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 22:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endeni/pseuds/endeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Padmé came to gift her cloak to Mon Mothma. A prequel to Carmarthen's terrific <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5648833">Armored in Silk</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Armor

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Armored in Silk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648833) by [Carmarthen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen). 



Padmé lays on her bed. She stares at the ceiling, her hair a dark crown against the sheets.  
In her head, she keeps rehearsing the words she is going to use the next day to address the Senate. _Senselessly murdered_ , she will say. Ruthlessly _and_ senselessly murdered.  
She closes her eyes for a moment. She sees Cordé's face, again. She gets up. No sleeping for her tonight. Might as well make use of her time awake.  
She goes to her terminal and starts composing her words.  
Last Will and Testament, she types.  
Ironic, she thinks, to be doing this only now, when she spent months under constant threat during the blockade. Except, back then, her whole world was under attack. This is personal.  
She leaves her assets to her family: her parents, her sister, her sweet nephews.  
She doesn't have much else as far possessions go, mostly her wardrobe, the symbol of her Naboo heritage.  
She thinks of Cordé, lying broken in her arms, asking for her forgiveness.  
Cordé. Versé. She's the one who got them killed.  
She thinks about her faithful handmaidens.  
Fierce Sabé. And blonde-haired Eirtaé. Rabé, who always tended to her elaborate hairstyles. Saché. Yané. Fé. Smart, insolent Dané. Sweet Dormé. Teckla Minnau. Faithful Moteé and Ellé.  
Her shadows, her protectors. Wearing her clothes like she wears her titles, Padmé Naberrie of Naboo, hiding behind her regal name, Amidala, and all those “milady” and “Your Royal Highness” and “Your Excellency”.  
The voluminous, imposing dresses she wore during her mandate as Queen, making her appear far older than her age, and the sumptuous but slightly less structured outfits she wears now as senator... they should all go to them, in honor of their service.

After she gets pregnant, she catches herself thinking about dying increasingly often.  
It's absurd, her future is ahead of her. And, no matter the anxious words of her husband, nobody has died of childbirth on Naboo or any of the Core Words in decades.  
But there is a war going on and Padmé can't help but worry about the future of her child.  
All will be well, she tells herself.  
Still, she opens her terminal. Should anything ever happen to her, to Anakin, she entrusts their child to her sister Sola.  
She leaves instructions, should anything happen, to be buried with the good luck charm Anakin made for her, all those years ago, a tangible memento of their secret love.  
Jedi aren't allowed possession. Should she die before him he won't be able to keep anything of her.  
She leaves Anakin's C-3PO to her friend Jar Jar.  
She leaves a token to captain Typho too. And one to fellow senator and friend Bail Organa.  
To Mon Mothma, always in white, she leaves her soft white cloak. She's not one of her handmaidens but she reminds Padmé of one, she has the fierce spirit of a warrior.

The Delegation fails. With her own eyes, Padmé witnesses democracy fall.  
Soon after, she finds that a murderous stranger has taken the place of her husband, leaving nothing behind.  
Her two loves betrayed her.  
How did she come to this? All her life, all that she'd done… for nothing. All to lie here, in this sterile room, surrounded by droids.  
There are no dresses or titles here. Not any more. She's just some poor woman, dying.  
She feels like every new breath she takes costs her more effort than the last.  
She is so tired.  
She wishes her children could grow with Sola like she intended but all her carefully planned contingencies have grown moot by now: Jedi are being hunted across the galaxy. She hopes, she _knows_ Obi-Wan will take care of them for her.  
For Anakin too.  
A shame, she thinks at last, they'll never have anything to remember their mother by.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] No Armor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118845) by [KeeperofSeeds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperofSeeds/pseuds/KeeperofSeeds)




End file.
